


A Dance With Destiny

by Kablob, mylordshesacactus



Category: RWBY
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Cinder Making Things Weird, F/F, Missing Scene, The Interplay Between Dancing And Sex And Also Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24691888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kablob/pseuds/Kablob, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mylordshesacactus/pseuds/mylordshesacactus
Summary: If you think about it, fighting and dancing aren't so different. Two partners interlocked, although one wrong move on the ballroom merely leads to a swollen foot......or a twisted ankle.
Relationships: Cinder Fall/Pyrrha Nikos
Comments: 35
Kudos: 106





	A Dance With Destiny

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KaenOkami](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaenOkami/gifts).



“...so that was the _sixth_ time one of my sisters had to rescue me from a locker.” Jaune gestured with his empty juice cup. “The _seventh_ time was actually really funny, me and Saph were…”

Pyrrha leaned her hip against the punch bar, unable to keep a giddy smile off her face. This was...nice. This was nice. Spending time together as a team was always a treat, but after their group dance Nora had said with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes that she’d give her and Jaune some alone time before dragging Ren off.

For once, Pyrrha thought Jaune had actually noticed the twinkle.

Jaune was always sweet. But he was genuinely _charming_ tonight, with none of the artifice that usually involved. It was...natural, and warm, and the looks he kept throwing her were a mixture of happy, understanding, and gently apologetic.

And that dress was _very_ flattering on him. Pyrrha had eyes.

She _loved_ watching him come into his own as a team leader. But it was...nice, to have his attention entirely to herself for one night. Even if only as partners and friends.

“So it turned out,” said Jaune enthusiastically, “there were actually _way_ more noodles than anyone planned for—” 

“Forgive me,” said a new voice. 

Pyrrha turned to see a—remarkably striking girl in an elegant black evening gown, hair swept over one shoulder, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Oh—yes? Can I help you with something?”

The young woman held out a gloved hand, palm-up, in invitation.

“I _hate_ to be forward,” she said smoothly. “But I’d like this dance, if you’re willing.”

Jaune shot her a grin, as if to say _see Pyrrha, you aren’t so unapproachable after all!_ and gracefully departed.

Suddenly alone—and forcing down a bizarre spike of resentment—Pyrrha reached out and accepted the offered hand. “I would be happy to oblige.”

* * *

The girl’s hand was cool and soft, smooth like silk in her grasp, and Cinder smiled.

“My,” she mused, guiding Pyrrha gently into the center of the milling crowd. “Miss Nikos. No callouses to speak of? Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised, in a fighter of your prominence.”

Pyrrha chuckled a little nervously. “Oh, I started training my Aura when I was very young. And you can just call me Pyrrha.”

“Cinder,” she replied with a smile.

Of _course_ she had no callouses. The girl was a prize show pony; her Aura had been awakened and strengthened long before she’d ever needed to pick up a spear. Long before she’d ever had to do any real work, anything that might mar her perfect skin. The stresses and abrasions that years of hardship would force on _others,_ before their Aura reached a point of being able to heal such things within moments, had never left a mark on her.

She ran the edge of her calloused middle finger, the layers of scar tissue that bore witness to what a needle and thread could do if you sewed until your fingertips bled, delicately down the center of Pyrrha Nikos’ flawless palm. She liked to think she felt the girl shiver, just a bit.

The music playlist for Beacon’s little get-together was as laughably disorganized as its security networks; but with a little insider knowledge Cinder had timed her invitation perfectly. The lights dimmed as a slightly tinny waltz began over the ballroom speakers.

Out of mild curiosity, Cinder waited for Pyrrha to step into position rather than guiding her.

This time the smile came entirely unbidden.

“You surprise me, Pyrrha. For some reason I expected you to take the lead position.”

Pyrrha blinked at her. “We can...switch, if...you want?”

Cinder had to bite down on a laugh as she placed her hand on the girl’s back. “Oh, no, I can do either.” The skin exposed by her backless dress was soft, too, with hard muscle coiled underneath.

“I’m not actually much of a dancer,” Pyrrha laughed. “People usually assume those skills translate.”

“Really?” Cinder stepped forward, the movement pressing Pyrrha back and away, sweeping into a slow turn. “I would never have guessed. You make a _superb_ follow. Anyone would think you were born for it.”

“Oh.” Cinder tried not to let her smile widen too obviously at the girl’s clear inability to figure out what to say to that. “I...thank you. You seem...quite good at this?”

“That means a great deal coming from you, I’m sure,” Cinder replied in a murmur. “It’s nothing but experience, really. And a series of skilled teachers. May I?”

“Of course.”

Cinder hummed noncommittally, shifting her hold on Pyrrha’s right hand slightly and letting the hand on the girl’s back dip slightly, resting just below her shoulderblades. Nothing _inappropriate,_ of course. Simply a more natural position, when her partner was taller.

“I’m sure you’ve heard that dancing and combat are...comparable,” she began.

Pyrrha gave another self-conscious laugh and hedged, “I’ve...never quite found that to be the case.”

“You’re thinking too hard,” Cinder chided. “You’ll find those skills translate to _many_ arenas. Come now. Think of me as your opponent. If I step into your space… _perfect._ I expected no less, from you.”

Pyrrha’s shoulders stiffened, at that. Cinder made a mental note of it. Mmm. It seemed the _invincible girl_ didn’t like it when people took that moniker at face value. And yet she’d gone to such lengths to set that perception up, to convince others she was untouchable when the truth was merely that fate had played favorites.

_Ashamed of yourself, Pyrrha?_

“And now I step again,” she said, looking up from under her eyelashes. One step to push her backward, again; Pyrrha was learning the move, and yielded beautifully. And then...just slightly, angling into her, a gentle nudge with the hip _just_ at the point of contact between them to press and then pull her into a faster turn than before.

Pyrrha Nikos had not been engaging in false modesty; she clearly had no idea what she was meant to be doing, but with only a split-second of hesitation her feet found themselves.

Cinder allowed herself a small, soft laugh. “I see what you mean. You really _aren’t_ a ballroom dancer.”

“I— _did_ warn you,” said Pyrrha, sounding equal parts embarrassed and amused.

“Oh,” said Cinder. “But you see? Your instincts tell you how to orient yourself around another person. Your body knows how to respond, when you allow it. Watch—”

In truth the success of the quick turn was mostly due to Cinder’s own intervention; she shifted her grip slightly, pulling Pyrrha subtly closer to lessen the risk of her losing track of their location, and would still have stepped on the girl’s feet if she hadn’t foreseen the problem and altered her own steps. But to anyone unused to the dance…

She would have had to know what to look for, in order to spot the manipulation.

“Flawless,” Cinder told her, with a pretty smile to match the lie. Pyrrha seemed, unsurprisingly, perfectly willing to accept the unearned praise. “You undersold yourself, somehow. That can’t be easy for someone like you to get away with.” She gave a false laugh. “I was almost nervous to ask for the dance, you know.”

“People...usually are. I’m certainly glad you asked.” It was perfectly polite, every inflection practiced and warm; the meaningless, smooth courtesy of a girl whose greatest concern in learning it had been validating her inferiors. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. Did you transfer for the festival?”

“From Haven,” Cinder said, deliberately casual. “I don’t get out of my dorm often, I admit, but I think you know my teammates. Team CMNE?”

“Oh!” Pyrrha looked faintly embarrassed. “You’re on Emerald’s team, of course.”

It had been Cinder’s plan in the first place to make Emerald the public-facing point of contact during their time undercover, so her spike of irritation at Pyrrha Nikos of all people referring to her as being on _Emerald’s team_ was irrational. That did not mean it wasn’t present.

People like her always did find it easy to overlook people like Cinder. They would all learn to regret that, very soon—and _this_ one would learn it intimately.

“Emerald is on _my_ team, I think you’ll find,” she corrected in tones of warm amusement. “Alas, not all of us are at our best as frontrunners. At least, not right now.”

For the first time, Pyrrha seemed genuinely interested. “Oh,” she reassured Cinder. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of! Being a team leader requires different skills that are very rare, and even more valuable. My team leader is exactly the same.”

It took Cinder several seconds to remember who Pyrrha Nikos’ team leader even was, and several more to decide whether or not she’d just been insulted.

But, incredibly, she seemed sincere. Ozpin had _so_ much to answer for.

Still. There was no point in petty indignation; Pyrrha’s false insight had, finally, relaxed her. Her shoulders were soft, her expression open and focused. _Finally,_ her attention was no longer wandering.

Cinder took the opportunity to press her harder than usual. While Pyrrha adjusted to the longer step, Cinder let the hand at her back slip down, curling slightly around her hip. She justified it by using the grip to half-turn the girl away, whisking her in a new direction; but she felt no need to return to her previous position when Pyrrha turned back into her.

The delicate drag of a finger down the dip of her spine, Cinder noted, had drawn a rush of color to Pyrrha’s face. Subtle; but noticeable, and the girl was making no attempt to shift Cinder’s hold.

Cinder felt one eyebrow twitch slightly, and hoped the chilliness entering her smile didn’t quite show.

Oh, yes. It had always been so very easy for people like Pyrrha to overlook people like Cinder—and so very _difficult_ for them to overlook her body. Superior, invincible, _untouchable,_ above the mere mortals surrounding them; until she rubbed a thumb along the sensitive seam of the girl’s weapon hand and _watched_ her pupils dilate in the dim light.

“Tell me, Pyrrha Nikos.” Cinder let her eyes just barely hint at gleaming as she guided them across the floor. “Are you always so perceptive? You’re nearly as skilled a judge of character as you are in the arena; I imagine _your_ team will do quite well in the tournament.”

“Perhaps we’ll face each other before the end of the competition,” Pyrrha said brightly.

“Perhaps we will,” Cinder murmured. “I hope not, though. It wouldn’t be much of a fight.”

Another one of those self-conscious little laughs. “Oh, don’t sell yourself short.”

 _Oh, I’m not._ Cinder smiled softly, studying Pyrrha’s face.

Gods, she had no idea at all.

_I’m going to kill you, Pyrrha Nikos._

The thought was calm, quiet—nearly affectionate.

And why should she _not_ feel a certain fondness for the girl who was already, though she didn’t know it, Cinder’s centerpiece? Any remaining uncertainty she had was gone; Pyrrha was cast in the starring role of her plan. It never could have been anyone else. The world would watch as their perfect hero slaughtered an innocent in the tournament finals, and that sacrifice would bring the beginning of the end.

Bring it from _Pyrrha’s_ hand.

That was inevitable now, there would be no stopping it. The players were in position, the curtain had just been pulled back. But Cinder had only composed the melody of the song; she had time, still, to find the perfect lyrics. The personal touches.

Pyrrha would die—but there were _so_ many ways to write that little coda.

There was a certain poetry in simply leaving her to the Grimm. Let the invincible girl watch herself shatter, let her watch her shame exposed to the world; and then let her _drown_ under the waves of her own despair. But no. No, not for this one—it would have to be Cinder, herself. Cut her throat, burn her alive, fire an arrow through her heart...she’d know in the moment what the most appropriate method was. But be it slow or fast, Pyrrha Nikos needed to understand what was happening. She needed to look it in the eye.

She _needed_ to feel helpless, in the end.

How would she react, this pretty pampered show gladiator who had wanted for nothing? When she learned the difference between fighting on a stage, and the filthy, bloody battle for survival? Grimm were mindless, no real test; and even _them_ she had never faced alone with nothing. How would she comport herself in those final moments, stripped of the privileges she had always enjoyed? Would she prove herself a true warrior after all, or crumble like the manufactured stage performer she was?

If Cinder was very, very lucky, maybe she’d beg.

The music was reaching a crescendo. Allowing herself a proper smirk, Cinder tightened her hold on Pyrrha’s outstretched hand, locked her arm behind the girl’s hips, and slipped her into a dramatic dip in time for their song to end.

Pyrrha gave an undignified gasp as she suddenly lost her footing; but of course Cinder caught her. She relished to the hilt the few shell-shocked moments in which Pyrrha clung to her, eyes wide with pleasant shock.

Bright green eyes flicked downward for a split second, and had time to see Cinder’s lips begin to twitch before they hastily darted back up.

Before the moment could be ruined Cinder straightened with just enough abruptness to leave the poor girl wrong-footed; but like a conscientious partner she was quick to catch her under the elbow, eyes downcast in feigned embarrassment.

“Oh, my apologies.” Cinder forced an imitation of Pyrrha’s earlier nervous, self-conscious laughs. “I got a little carried away there at the end.”

“No, no, it’s fine!” Pyrrha’s voice was gratifyingly breathless and at least half an octave higher than usual. The _poor_ thing. “That was—quite enjoyable. Thank you...Cinder, was it?”

“Mmm.” Cinder stepped back, letting her left hand linger over the back of Pyrrha’s right. Delicately, she took gentle hold of the girl’s fingers and brought them to her lips. Giving one last magnanimous smile, she finally let her touch fall away. “The pleasure was all mine. We should do it again sometime.”

Pyrrha smiled, but there was a faint look of confusion to go with it, a barely-perceptible knit of her eyebrows. “I hope we get the opportunity.”

Cinder thought she seemed a little dazed as she made her way back over to her teammates, shaking her head with fond exasperation over how in the world their little lightning-bolt of a bruiser had managed to spill an entire bowl of punch over not only herself but Ozpin’s long-suffering deputy.

How...sweet. Domestic. So innocent, sheltered from the knowledge of what was really out there. Of how soon it would come to their doorstep.

_Enjoy it while you can._

**Author's Note:**

> So we've had this idea since like...2016, and we finally wrote it. It's awful. You're welcome.


End file.
